


The Ghost Of You

by hitorimaron



Category: The Imitation Game (2014)
Genre: Angst, Cover Art, Fluff, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Like so many feels you can't even imagine, M/M, Medicine, Not sure where this will lead in the area of smut so let's just wait and see, Organo-Therapic Treatment, Post-World War II, all fanfiction roads lead to that I fear, oh yeah there is some vanilla smut going on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-03-29 17:36:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3904969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitorimaron/pseuds/hitorimaron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The organo-therapic treatement is making Alan's life miserable. That is, until he stumbles upon an unlikely friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to get this idea off my chest for a very long time, so here we go...also this universe is pretty much a combination of The Imitation Game movie and Andrew Hodges' book: Alan Turing: The Enigma, so there might be a slight interference in some parts.
> 
> I do not own anything, just the story. :)

 

The Manchester Royal Infirmary was an old and small brick building and weren't it for the fact, he was forced by law to visit it every few days for his treatment, Alan Turing would definitely not step inside, even if his life depended on it. Alas, he had no choice. Judge Harrison made it clear, that if he wanted to avoid jail, he needed to visit regularly, so a 'duly qualified medical practitioner' could administer his dose of hormonal mixture into his body.

He knew, he should probably count himself lucky to only be bound by this simple treatment for a year, but he couldn't help feeling resentment over this situation. How could anybody be charged for being homosexual was beyond his comprehension and it remained so even after the trial.

He could still remember his brother John, advising him strongly to deny the accusations, but he never did deny being a homosexual before. After all, most of his close friends already knew or suspected, thanks to the subtle comments, he made here and there. Alan wasn't the one to pretend, he was something, he wasn't. He knew, he was a genius in mathematics and he wanted everybody to know so. And he also knew, he was a homosexual and why shouldn't people know that too then?

Luckily, his friends understood. They never did resent him or shy away from him, even after they realized, he preferred the company of men. Most of them just ignored it altogether. And when the time of the trial came, a lot of his colleagues from Bletchley Park joined him there to testify for his benefit. Not lie per se, since most of what was said included the need to preserve his freedom for the sake of science.

Under so much academic pressure, the judge was somehow forced to let Alan go, for which the man was quite glad, because he couldn't possibly continue with his studies behind the bars. To his satisfaction, he didn't even lose his job at the university. They only had to place him on probatio, which did indeed isolate him from the students, but he never particularly enjoyed teaching anyways. The only drawback was the organo-therapy.

At first, Alan thought, that avoiding jail meant he's choosing his intellectual life over his body and feelings. He didn't care, what the treatment might do to him, although there certainly were some pretty disturbing rumors wandering around the country. But he didn't let that bother him. As long as he could continue his research, he would be happy. Except, later he realized, the treatment didn't only make his body numb, it also influenced his thinking in quite an extensive way.

And that fact hit him hard. He tried anyways of course, but he often got distracted, a dull feeling creeping into his mind. And that was only after the first week of therapy, what would happen after the whole year of it, Alan didn't even dare to imagine.

So that's why he resented every other morning, when he had to walk into the building of the Manchester Royal Infirmary. He resented it with all his heart, together with it's cheerful staff and it's expensive equipment.

But he would continue going there for the mind-altering drugs, even if it had to kill him, he couldn't just leave his computer untended. What if somebody were to disable him or God forbid, destroy him. Christopher was all, that he had cared about since the end of the war. There was nothing more important to him. Nothing.

 

~o~

 

Alan walked out of the doctor's office, his hand gripping the knob tightly to prevent it from trembling. Doctor Evans warned him, he might feel a bit out of the place for the next few hours due to the heightened dosage of the hormonal mixture, he decided to administer today. He even informed him politely, that next month, Alan will attend a surgery to put an implant of hormones into his thigh, so that he wouldn't bother the busy doctors with checking on his treatment. Well, Alan just rolled his eyes, stubbornly answering, that they should just give him a huge bag of pills for the whole year and he will make sure to take them all in due time, which of course, the doctor refused right away.

Well, so much for logical solutions, Alan sighed, closing the door behind him without a goodbye. His head throbbed and he closed his eyes for a second, hoping it would fade after a while, but it didn't, so he just forced his feet to move along the hallway, supporting himself on the green wall. It wasn't that bad, he tried to tell himself as the dizziness clouded his vision. It felt like the fog in the morning, when he went running. Thick and almost impenetrable.

His knees gave out midway and he would have hit the floor hard, weren't it for the hands grabbing him halfway to the ground. He sank involuntary into the embrace, closing his eyes to the darkness, until a hand slapped him gently over the cheek few times.

“Sir? Could you open your eyes for me?” asked a deep voice from above him, continuing to tap his cheek. Alan didn't feel like opening his eyes at the moment, but the thought of leaving Christopher alone any longer made him force them open immediately, his head jerking up.

“Ah, there you are,” said the voice, relief obvious in the tone. Alan could even sense a hint of a smile, although he only saw the hallway and a nurse standing at it's beginning, her eyebrows lifted in question.

“Could you bring a glass of water, please, Anna?” Alan heard right next to his ear. The nurse walked away hurriedly and he glanced down to his body in confusion. There was a pair of arms, holding him close to the other man's chest. He frowned, looking to his right, from where the voice came and caught sight of a young fair-haired man, watching him.

There might have been something familiar about his face, but Alan was still under the influence of those freaking drugs and his vision refused to stabilize. Also, he didn't care about anything right now, he just wanted to leave this horrible place and go back home.

“I'm alright,” he groaned, pushing himself away from the said man. He felt the arms tense around him for a second, but then he was being helped by them to stand up again.

“Are you sure?” asked the man, his hand gripping his shoulder carefully.

“Pretty sure.” Alan nodded, waving his hand nonchalantly, although his body swung a little, like a thin tree pushed around by the wind.

“You should sit down,” advised the man, pushing up back up the hallway. Only then did Alan notice, he was wearing a white medical coat and his face scrounged in distaste.

“No, thank you, I'm quite alright now,” he bit out, shrugging the hand from his shoulder. “Doctor...?”

“Collins,” answered the man automatically. “And you are?”

“Alan Turing, not very pleased to meet you, doctor... _Collins_ ,” he continued, his voice carefully clipped. “Well, I bet you are very busy with... normal patients, so no need to waste your time on a...a homosexual delinquent like me.”

Alan glanced at him then, seeing something, he didn't understand cross the man's face, but they were interrupted by the nurse, who returned with a cup full of fresh cold water. The doctor took it out of her hands, nodding in thanks and held it out for Alan to take. He didn't acknowledge the gesture, turning around and stumbling down the hallway without a word.

 

~o~

 

The morning was still rather fresh, when he finally pushed the door open, taking a deep breath it. It calmed him a bit, feeling the sun warming his skin, making the chills from before subside a little. He unclenched his fists, running the trembling fingers over his disheveled hair. The fall must have tussled them up and he was always taught to keep them tidy like a real gentleman by his mother.

Alan just breathed in and out for a while, hearing the door close behind him, as he let go of it. Another day of treatment behind him, only...he frowned trying to count off the number of days, he had left, but his mind felt very cloudy. He could feel his ribcage clench painfully around his heart, realizing, he can't even count properly anymore. A sob escaped his throat, as he pressed a hand to his forehead.

But Alan couldn't let the grief overwhelm him, he had more important things to do right now and to be able to do them, he had to get home first. He walked shakily to his bicycle, grasping the handlebar and pulling it out of the rack. Except, he was so weak, it didn't go all the way out and slipped back inside, after his hand got caught in a spasm and he let go of the handlebar.

“You shouldn't ride a bicycle in this state,” stated a voice from behind him and as he turned around to face it, he recognized doctor Collins clad the white coat.

“Thank you again, doctor Collins, for the useless advice,” Alan retorted, turning back to his bicycle, yanking at it few times. “But as you can see, which I'm sure you can, because you have two apparently functional eyes in your skull, I only have one possible way of transportation right now and since I need to get home, I will do so on this bicycle... I already fulfilled my duty and took the whole dosage of pills, so no worries, I won't run around raping innocent straight men.”

“You're wrong,” contradicted the doctor, suddenly a lot closer than before.

“You should know I am rarely wrong, sir,” Alan shook his head, which only made it throb more, but he tried to ignore it, finally freeing his bicycle from the rack. “But feel free to indulge me. What am I wrong about exactly?”

Doctor Collins laid a hand on the bicycle, maybe trying to hold Alan off, before he could jump onto it and ride away faster than the wind. He leaned over, a slight smile playing on his lips and Alan frowned in confusion.

“You're wrong about the transportation,” the man answered, pointing down the street. “I have a car.”

Alan just blinked once, waiting for the explanation, what exactly has the doctor's car to do with him. There was silence for a few seconds and Collins rolled his eyes, pulling the bicycle closer to him.

“I have a car, that I can offer you as a transportation possibility,” he elaborated, pointing at the gray Moris Minor car standing by a tree. Alan looked behind his shoulder, scanning it with his eyes and then turns back to face the doctor.

“That vehicle is in no way able to transport my bicycle back home,” he answered, choosing the logical way of seeing things as always. “I also can not drive.”

“You can leave the bicycle here for today. I can lock it in my office for safe keeping and bring it to you later,” shrugged the doctor. “I can also drive you back home. My night shift just ended.”

“Why?” Alan's frown deepened, not comprehending, what and why was the doctor offering to him.

“It's a kindness. You look like you could use some kindness in your life, Alan,” doctor Collins proclaimed, prying Alan's fingers from the handlebars. He let the bicycle slide free and the doctor pulled it along, walking back to the entrance. “Also, I am a doctor and you are a patient. Homosexual or not... it's my responsibility to keep patients healthy and if you'd hit a tree on your way home, I would pretty much fail at my duties.”

Alan stared after him and his frown couldn't get any deeper. But even though, he had no idea, what just happened, he felt oddly relieved, he didn't have to shuffle along the bicycle all the way back home again.

 

~o~

 

Doctor Collins was back in no time, a content smile playing along his lips. He walked over to where Alan was standing and placed a gentle hand on his back, guiding him to his two-door gray car. It reminded Alan of something, but he refused to let his brain continue to find that memory. He was in enough pain already and he knew, if he'd let that memory resurface, it would mean being even more in pain.

So none of them said anything - Alan being too tired to even care, what was happening around him. He got maneuvered into the passenger seat and as the door closed, he leaned over slightly, pressing his forehead onto the cold glass of the window. He felt a bit better immediately.

His temporary driver sat down on the right side beside him after a few seconds, grasping the steering wheel and looking over expectantly.

“So where to?” he asked after a while, seeing Alan wasn't going to provide information on his own.

“Home,” he muttered, turning his head a little to find a colder part of the glass.

“Well, the address would be useful,” commented doctor Collins, but Alan just closed his eyes, ignoring his voice. The man reached over shaking his shoulder a little to startle him back awake. “What's the address, Alan?”

So Alan told him, just to get rid of the annoying voice waking him up from his doze. Sleeping suddenly felt like the best idea, because it made the dizziness subside and the pain draw back to the edges of his mind. His hands were still trembling, but he didn't have to use them for anything, so it didn't bother him. He could simply pretend it was from the car's vibrations, as the doctor started the engine and guided the car out of the parking spot and down the street.

Alan sighed, turning his head to sit more comfortably and listened to the rumbling of the engine, sleep slowly creeping closer and closer, but it couldn't seem to breach the border of his mind. Only when the doctor started to hum some tune, did he manage to fall into a peaceful sleep.

 

~o~

 

Alan woke up again to a voice calling his name and hearing it through the wail of sleep, his heart clenched painfully in some vague recognition. He opened his eyes and pushed away from the cold glass, turning his head in the direction of the voice. He recognized the doctor immediately and disappointment flooded his ribcage. He must have dreamt about his old friend and the dream must have slipped into the reality and clouded his judgment. Not to mention the drugs often made his feelings a lot more violent, than they ever were before.

“Good morning, Alan,” the doctor smiled. He still had a hand on Alan's shoulder and apparently was in no hurry to pull it away. “Is this your home?”

Alan glanced through the windshield and recognized the street. He looked to his left and saw his house. It was exactly, how he left it. His chest swelled in anticipation to be with his Christopher again and so, he didn't even answer, fumbling with the door for a second. He opened it after a few tries and stumbled outside.

“I guess that's a yes,” he heard a voice mutter behind him, but he dismissed it quite quickly, heading up the pavement to his front door.

Alan didn't even notice the sound of car doors being slammed shut, nor the footsteps getting closer, as he reached inside his pocket, finding the keys to his house. He snatched up the key he was looking for, but his hand was trembling so much, now that he was awake again, he couldn't seem to fit it into the keyhole. Irritation crept into his mind, tears filling his eyes.

“Here, let me,” said the doctor, who was standing right behind him. He pushed Alan gently away with his hand on his left forearm and took the keys from the weak hand. With no problems whatsoever, he pushed the key into the keyhole and turned it a few times. Alan felt somehow envious seeing, how easy it was for the man.

“Yes, yes,” he waved his hand impatiently, as the door opened and took the keys back from the doctor. “You can go now, thank you.”

“I should make sure you drink something first,” the doctor argued, as Alan stepped inside, ready to close the door.

“I think, I am capable of drinking a glass of water on my own, sir,” Alan bit out, trying to not think about his trembling hands and how the last time he came back from his treatment, he spilled half the glass all over his carpet. But he continued his speech anyway. “I am neither a cripple, nor a child. Besides, you surely wouldn't want to step inside a homosexual's lair, who knows what kind of profanities could await you inside.”

“I'll risk it in this case,” countered the doctor, shaking his head in amusement, as he pushed past Alan, walking through the small empty hallway into a living room stacked with books, scattered sheets of paper and dirty dishes.

“Careful, a sane man might think you're making advancements,” said Alan from behind him and the doctor just smirked, looking around his living room, which Alan successfully converted into a study. Well to be precise, the whole house was one big study room for him now. He had all his important notes pinned onto the walls, all the important books opened on the floors on the parts, he needed to consider.

“I... uh,” Alan said, noticing the dirty dishes on the chair next to the doctor. His mother used to always clean up everything, before she let visitors into her house and although Alan never really cared about such things, he felt somehow embarrassed to have his home exposed in such a way.

“I didn't exactly have time to clean up, lately,” he muttered, walking past the doctor, who was eying the notes on his walls in something similar to awe. Alan snatched the plate from the chair, but his hand twitched uncontrollably and the silverware stacked on it spilled onto the floor.

“Damn it,” he swore, getting down to collect the fork and knife. The doctor didn't seem to notice, spotting the other room to his left, which was filled with parts of a very complex machine.

He walked over in fascination, eying the equipment. He reached his hand and stepped in closer to touch the humming machine, but Alan made a startled sound from behind him, noticing his actions.

“No, no, no,” he exclaimed, dashing to him. “Do not touch him.” He brushed past the doctor, effectively barricading the way with his body.

“This,” he waved his hand over the room, “is a very sensitive machine, you mustn’t...”

“Yes, I'm sorry, it's just...so beautiful,” the doctor said, letting his eyes glide over the different parts. The red cables all seemed to have a proper place to lead to, the little wheels turned in tandem and pointers on the diagrams quivered slightly every once in a while. The man watched it all for a while, absorbing all the beauty and then frowned, as if he just realized something.

“Him?” he asked puzzled, looking back at Alan. “This machine...you said _him_.”

“Yes, yes,” Alan rolled his eyes, shaking his head impatiently. He never really understood, how everybody got surprised about Alan treating Christopher the way he did – it was a given for him after all.

“Yes, it started as a decoding machine, but Christopher...he, he can think...not like a person would, of course, but in his own way,” he glanced at the machine behind him, his eyes full of love. Alan reached his hand over to trace his fingers over one red cable and smiled. “He's...he's become so smart...so smart.”

“Ch-christopher?” the doctor repeated something like a shock plastering itself onto his face. “So you...you named your machine after...”

“A very dear friend of mine, yes,” Alan turned back to him, his eyebrows furrowing at how stricken the other man looked. But the doctor just cleared his throat quickly, composing himself.

“Well, I bet your friend must have been very honored,” he started, side-stepping to his right to get a better look at the components. “Such a magnificent machine being named after him...”

“He didn't get the chance to be,” Alan muttered, his voice suddenly solemn. “He...he died. As um...as people do, so, yes...bovine tuberculosis does that to humans, I'm afraid. Which you...probably know, since you're a doctor.”

“Oh,” cringed doctor Collins, his fingers sliding over his sides, as if to dry the sweat, that was covering his palms. “Yes, yes of course, I just...”

“Now,” Alan raised his voice again, clasping his hands behind his back. “If you're done with snooping, would you please just leave already?”

Doctor Collins' lips thinned at that and he lifted his eyes from Alan's face once again to roam the vast assembly of components all over the room. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but refrained.

“Of course,” he nodded after a long pause and stepped back a little. “I apologize for my intrusion. It was... rather rude of me.”

He turned his back to Alan, walking swiftly out of the room, adjoined to the living room and crossed it to the hallway. “Make sure to drink that water,” was the last thing Alan heard, before the front door clicked and he was left standing alone in front of Christopher.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Few days later, he found himself staring hatefully at the building of the Manchester Royal Infirmary once again. His bicycle was resting underneath him, as he put his foot down on the ground to steady himself. He had found it propped against his front door later than day without a trace of doctor Collins, which he was vaguely glad about. He wasn't sure, what it was about that man, but something irked him about him in a way, he couldn't explain.

He put his old bicycle into the rack and walked into the building hesitantly. The new vaster dosage of hormonal medication made him feel really sick for two days, until he got used to it and was able to work a bit on his computer. Not to mention, he had to suffer through Joan's surprising visit, which left him emotionally drained for the rest of the day.

He loved that woman with all his heart, he loved her like the sister, he's never had, but her presence in his house made him think of unpleasant things, such as losing Christopher. And that was something, he wouldn't be able to bear. He'd do anything to stay with him, he would never leave him, as the young Christopher dared to do to him. But...it wasn't his fault. He chastised himself for the thoughts, Christopher Morcom was the kindest person, he had ever met, he would never cause anybody distress on purpose. That was just how Alan's life was – a constant suffering. It was nobody's fault per se.

He still felt his hands trembling, but at least he didn't feel so dizzy, so he could ride his bike up to the hospital. He suspected it was all thanks to Christopher. He did pull his armchair down into his room and curled up on it for the past few nights. Cuddled into his sheets right next to his computer, he left safe and a lot healthier, than he had in the last two weeks.

He walked into the building with a renewed determination, stopping at the front desk. The nurse (What was her name again? She brought him a glass of water last time.) looked up at him, her face mirroring her disgust, as she recognized him. But before she could even open her mouth to say something, a familiar voice joined them.

“Good morning, Alan,” greeted him a man, in whom he recognized doctor Collins. He walked in closer, touching his right forearm gently for a second and then glanced at the nurse.

“Mister Turing has been transferred under my care, along with some other patients due to overflow of doctor Evans' appointments,” he informed her, shrugging, as if there was nothing to do about that. “Don't forget to bring me all their files later, please.”

The nurse just nodded, her face still stern in Alan's presence, but he didn't exactly notice. He was never really a person, who would care much for other people's opinions and he wasn't about to start caring now.

Doctor Collins beckoned him to follow him down the hallway and he did, feeling a new wave of resentment towards the man, wondering if he was really a 'duly qualified medical practitioner', which by that definition could obviously be anybody. The only thing they needed to do, was check, if he actually swallowed all the hormonal pills, anyways.

He walked behind doctor Collins, as the man stepped into his office. The office was rather small for a doctor - just a desk on one side with two chairs on either side of it and an examination table on the other.

“Please, take a seat,” he waved at the chair in front of his table and Alan's jaw clenched. “I don't exactly need to sit down to take the medications. That can be done in a standing position too.”

“Please, Alan,” repeated doctor Collins, closing the door behind them. He walked past Alan and sat down into his chair behind the desk, sliding a few papers over it.

Alan shuffled through the room and sat down involuntarily. He eyed the documents on the doctor's table, but there was nothing interesting in them, so he just looked up at the clock hanging up on the wall.

“So, how are you feeling?” asked the doctor, putting his elbows up on the desk and leaning a bit closer.

“Like a drugged homosexual,” answered Alan sharply, not even bothering to be subtle anymore, since the feeling of betrayal was growing bigger by every second, he had to spend in this man's office.

“Experiencing any...side effects?” quizzed doctor Collins, scanning the lithe body of his patient, which was hidden under a few layers of a gray suit. If Alan was any better in recognizing emotions flickering over people's faces, he'd definitely notice, how concerned the doctor looked.

“Aside from the impotence?” Alan questioned daringly, his hands balling into fists to prevent them from twitching uncontrollably. “Oh wait, that is not a side effect, that is actually the..the main purpose of the treatment. That and taming my filthy urges, so...yes it's...it's working obviously, since I didn't try to stick my penis into anybody recently...so why...why don't we just get on with it, so I can return to Christopher?”

Doctor Collins' lips thinned at that, but just as he opened his mouth to say something, there was a knock on the door and the nurse walked inside, carrying a tray of different kinds of medication. Alan's hand twitched as he saw them, as if he wanted to hit the tray and run out of the room, but he just closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing heart. He had to take any and all of those, if he wanted to return home today.

“Yes, so,” started doctor Collins, as the nurse put the tray onto his desk, eying him expectantly. “Doctor Evans recommended a higher dosage for you, so we will stick with that.”

He grabbed a little bottle full of white round pills and walked over to the sink, where he turned around to fill a cup with water. Alan glanced at the nurse, who kept staring at him, her mouth turned upside down, as if she was seeing a pile of excrements and sighed, wishing it would be all over soon.

As doctor walked back to him, he sat up straight, reaching out for the cup, he was offering. He lifted his other hand up then, making a little bowl out of it, so the doctor could fill it with the prescribed medication. Doctor Collins opened the little bottle and poured five little polygon-like pills into his waiting hand.

He stared at the pills for a few seconds, conveying all his hatred for them in one single look and then frowned. They were not exactly as round as the ones he took last week. When he looked at them closer, he could recognize little wide corners around them. It wasn't an exact circle, but it would have passed for one from a distance.

Alan glanced up at the doctor, his eyebrows furrowing, but the doctor just nodded encouragingly. Why would he be giving him different pills, if he just said those were exactly the same ones doctor Evans prescribed, Alan didn't understand. His hand twitched and he almost spilled them all, weren't it for the fact that doctor grabbed his hand to steady it.

“Would you take them already, we have real patients to treat, you know,” said the nurse angrily, folding her arms over her chest.

“Anna,” chastised the doctor, but the woman did not bulge. She glared at Alan, who dropped his eyes back to the pills. Not that there was much choice for him, no matter what kind of pill the doctor decided to give him. He had to take them in front of the said doctor and a nurse as a witness. So he gulped them all down as fast as he could and opened his mouth, so that the doctor could see, there was nothing inside.

Doctor Collins checked his mouth thoroughly, his fingers resting gently on the side of Alan's neck and then nodded at the nurse.

“You're free to go,” he announced and Alan got up, ignoring them both. He knew the dizziness would probably hit him hard very soon, because the medication was somehow able to enter his system very fast and he didn't want to waste his remaining lucid moment in the company of these homophobic bastards.

 

~o~

 

He thought he would be rid of them, if he just walked out of the office, but it was quite the opposite, because the nurse walked out right behind him, following him down the hallway. She ran ahead of him, turning around suddenly halfway to the entrance door and blocked his way. He looked up at her, just now noticing her presence and then tried to walk around her, but his attempts were all in vain, she always just side-stepped, barricading his path to freedom.

“I know doctor Collins drove you home last week, you sick pretender,” she whispered violently, scowling. “You might think there is something more behind his kindness, given your... inclination to gross indecency, but you should know, there is not.”

Alan blinked once, watching her put her hands on her waist in a threatening manner. He gulped and looked around, seeing a few other patients stare at them. His hand twitched at the unwanted attention and he tried to walk around the nurse once again without a word, but that didn't work out. She stepped in front of him, pushing him away with such strength, he stumbled a few steps back.

“You better not be thinking of forcing him into your filth,” she spat, advancing onto him with a raised fist. Alan could surely try to fight his way out of the hospital, but hurting a woman was something he wouldn't dare, no matter how angry and violent she would be. Of course, he always preferred the logical way of approach.

“I...I have no such...urges,” he stumbled, lifting his hands in front of him in a placating gesture. “I assure you I... I am on the treatment, after all.”

“You better, because you know, what I could do, if you even look at him the wrong way,” the nurse scowled, trying to intimidate him. “I could just go visit the head doctor and tell him, you've been neglecting your treatment. I could tell him, I saw you throwing up the medication out behind the building, I could tell him...anything I wished and they would send _you_ to jail, where such a disgusting scum like you belongs.”

“You... you would lie?” Alan backed up a little more, his face full of confusion. Nobody would believe her, would they? But knowing, what an intellectual crank he was, as his mother always said, he probably wouldn't be able to convince the judge of his truth, same as he couldn't convince Commander Denniston he wasn't a Russian spy all those years ago.

“Do you understand?” she asked, her voice menacing.

“Yes...of course...”

 

~o~

 

“Alan,” called a deep voice, just as he managed the pull his bicycle from the rack. He didn't feel weak at all this time, but he guessed it was only a question of time.

He turned around, spotting doctor Collins without his white coat once again and winced. He shouldn't even be looking at him, but there was something in the way he walked. Alan just shook his head turning his bicycle and started to walk next to it in case the familiar nausea would hit him soon.

“You always leave in such a hurry,” smiled doctor Collins, catching up to him quickly. He started to walk along his bicycle, putting a steadying hand on the other handlebar.

“Yes well... it's not exactly a pleasant place for me,” Alan answered, his voice dripping with disgust, thinking back on his confrontation with the nurse.

“Yes, of course, I understand” the doctor agreed, glancing at him. “I was just... hoping um... so, how does Christopher work exactly?”

“I doubt a simple doctor like you could even grasp the concept of my computer, let alone understand the complexity of it,” Alan muttered, gripping the bicycle a bit tighter with his fingers. “It's...it's way too technical for the likes of you.”

They stopped at the end of the pavement and Alan pulled the bicycle out of doctor Collin's hand. He hopped up onto the seat, straddling it and put his right foot on the pedal.

“I've had my fair share of cryptography studies back in the old days,” the doctor shrugged, watching Alan. “Maybe I could understand at least some of it.”

“I doubt that,” Alan shook his head, pushing at the pedal to bring the bicycle into movement and as he did so few more times, the bicycle sped down the street, leaving the doctor far behind him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I will go to bed now, night night, enjoy the new chapter. ;)
> 
> \----------

Staring at the building of the Manchester Royal Infirmary a week later, Alan was even more confused, than before. His fingers didn't even twitch, as he pushed his bicycle into the rack. He looked at them curiously, just as he did many times this week and flexed them. His fingers folded into his palms and straightened back out again without a problem. He took a deep breath in, closing his eyes, reciting the ratio of a circle's circumference to it's diameter.

“Three point one, four, one, five, nine,” he muttered, rubbing his hands together. “Two, six, five, three, five.”

It was so easy for him now. A week ago, he couldn't even count the remaining days of his treatment and now, he seemed back into his old self.

“Eight, nine, seven, nine, three,” he continued. After a few more digits he stopped, opening his eyes again. There was only one logical explanation to this - doctor Collins didn't give him the hormonal pills. Of course, it was already apparent from their shape, but that could have been just some new batch of pills, with a slightly different round shape. That wasn't so weird, the organo-therapic treatment was a new method after all. Medications got refined all the time.

So Alan did understand it from a logical point of view. He was feeling the same, as he had before the treatment, so what he swallowed last week, couldn't have possibly been the hormonal medications. But what confused him, since he never really understood people, was why would doctor Collins do such a thing.

“It's a kindness,” he said, when he helped him to get home. “You look like you could use some kindness in your life, Alan.” The problem was, Alan didn't actually care much, if people were kind or not, he didn't care about people at all. The only person, he'd ever cared deeply enough about was Christopher. Everybody else was just white noise to him. 

There was something more behind that kindness, it must have been. Doctors don't just fake a treatment to be kind. The nurse did say there was nothing more behind it all, but she might have lied – she was obviously ready to lie about his treatment, so it only gave sense to Alan. What more could there be?

He said, Alan deserved it. Did he know about his work during the Second World War? And if he did, where did he find out? Did MI6 send him? Maybe Stewart Menzies heard about the break-in and the trial, and was secretly trying to pay him back for his years of service to the British Empire? The ladder actually seemed most likely.

Figuring this all out made Alan a lot calmer. He looked at the building, eying the red bricks and the white window frames. He frowned then, knowing that there was still something that irked him about doctor Collins. Was he really a MI6 agent? He needed to know.

And so he stepped inside the building, determination in his step, as he walked through the reception area without even glancing at the nurse. Oh, she was there, staring at him in disgust, he wasn't blind, but he won't give her the benefit of his attention. She might have caught him by surprise the last time,since he was mentally and emotionally vulnerable due to the hormonal pills that time, but that is not gonna happen again. At least not while his head is clear as a summer sky.

Reaching doctor Collin's office, Alan just barged in without waiting. He spotted the doctor, writing something into a file on his desk and his frown deepened. Was it a report for Menzies? The doctor glanced up at him, his dark eyes gentle, his smile widening.

“Good morning, Alan,” he greeted, closing the file and putting it away into his drawer. He looked up at him then expectantly.

“Did... did Menzies send you?” he blurred out, shutting the door behind him, because he knew, no agent ever talks with opened door.

“Who?” frowned the doctor.

“You should not play games with me, sir... I always win anyways,” Alan warned, advancing on the table carefully. “Besides, I already know about MI6. I practically worked for them, which... I'm sure your boss told you...”

“MI6?” doctor Collins interrupted him, his eyebrows furrowing. “There are only five divisions of the Military Intelligence....I thought.”

Alan stopped in his tracks halfway to the table, studying the doctor's face. He instantly wished, he could read emotions just like Hugh always did. It always looked so easy – like that evening at the bar, just one glance and everything was clear to him. But to Alan, it was even worse than working out the Enigma's settings. You see, all machines had a pattern, they talked through numbers and...well he was good with numbers.

He thought of his machines and decided to take a different approach. One, that he was very familiar with. Maybe he just needed to ask the right questions, to find out, how the doctor thinks. And so Alan walked to his predestined chair and sat down.

“You didn't administer the hormonal treatment last week, why?” he asked, folding his hands into his lap patiently.

“You were feeling sick,” doctor Collins stated, looking back at him. “Are you feeling better now? Have the side effects lessened?”

Alan's fingers flexed experimentally at that and he nodded, which made the doctor smile.

“Yes, yes...what were those medications for then?” Alan questioned, before the doctor could say anything, while mentally analyzing every word his test subject uttered. This was his domain after all. This was his imitation game. “The ones you gave me last week.”

“Vitamin supplements,” the doctor shrugged, putting a hand inside his coat's pockets, rattling with the said pills.

“Why?” Alan continued his questioning, feeling the curiosity almost overwhelm him, but he managed to rein it, waiting for the answer. Which of course didn't come, because the more you want something, the smaller gets the possibility of actually getting it.

In walked the nurse with her usual tray of pills. She didn't even bother to knock. The doctor straightened up, looking up at her and forcing a pleasant smile onto his lips. She walked over, both men watching her carefully, and placed the tray onto the desk. Then she folded her arms over her chest, turning her sharp glare at Alan. He ignored her, not letting his eyes drop from doctor's.

“You knew....,” Alan started, but doctor Collins interrupted him right away. “Not now, Alan.” He took the dose with hormonal medication and walked with it to the sink, to pour some water for Alan to help with the swallowing.

Alan wanted to watch him, he really did. He wanted to see with his own eyes, how he'll switch the pills for the harmless ones, but the nurse was ogling with her laser-like eyes and he didn't dare. She threatened to have him put into jail after all and Alan had no doubt, she would succeed.

Doctor Collins turned around suddenly. “Anna,” he called up. “Please, go get us a cup, I seem to have misplaced mine.”

“Can't he just swallow it dry?” she questioned, not moving and Alan blanched. Those hormonal pills were so big, he even had problems to force it down his throat with a full glass of water. He always felt it stuck in his throat for another few hours, although, it was long gone down his stomach.

“Be so kind, Anna,” added the doctor, looking at her friendly. She shook her head violently, muttering something under her breath, as she walked out of the room, leaving the door opened.

Alan watched her go, his fingertips itching with the unsatisfied curiosity. He felt a hand land on his shoulder and looked up at the doctor, standing suddenly next to him. His mouth opened reflexively to ask the last question once again, but the doctor managed to speak up first.

“I promise, I will explain later,” doctor Collins whispered harshly, his fingers gripping Alan's shoulder gently. “But not here and not now. There are more, than one pair of eyes watching us here.”

Alan frowned ready to oppose that plan, but he could already hear the nurse's footsteps returning, so he just nodded quickly, feeling some kind of an odd loss, as the doctor's hand slid from his shoulder.

The nurse walked back in, handing an empty cup to the doctor, who went back to the sink, filling the said cup with fresh water. Alan just kept his eyes down, staring at his lap, until the doctor came over and startled him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Swallow these, please,” he ordered, his voice carefully measured. Alan lifted his hands – one taking the full cup of water, the other waiting for five almost round pills. He swallowed them one after another, adding a general amount of water into the mix. But it still went down slowly. He could feel it slide down his throat centimeter by centimeter and wished the pills were just smaller somehow.

Gulping down the last drops of water, he put the cup on the table and eyed his doctor. He didn't even look back at him, staring at some documents, he took from the table.

“You're fine to go,” he said, completely immersed in his reading. “I'll see you next week.”

Alan's lips thinned and he got up from the chair, even more confused, than when he sat down in it. He quickly left the room then, hoping, that the nurse won't follow him this time and he was obviously lucky, because the doctor called after her, just as she was about to follow Alan.

 

~o~

 

The sun was slowly getting down behind the windows. The armchair got pushed out of Christopher's room to create more space for the tools. Alan sat down on the carpet, pulling out a part of his computer from the right corner. He regarded it with his eyes and slid his fingers slowly over it's surface.

“Don't worry,” he muttered, jamming the screwdriver into the little hole on it's side. He turned it around few times, until the screw fell out and repeated the process all over the side. The panel loosened and Alan took it down carefully, glancing inside the box.

“I won't let you die,” he whispered soothingly, pushing his fingers into the mess made out of wires, screws and other items. He took the blue cable, which was leading into the processor, gently between his fingers, and pulled it out.

“Not this time, Christopher,” he continued, humming quietly under his breath, as he replaced the blue wire with a copper twisted-pair. He disconnected a few more then, putting coaxial cable between the two main parts.

As he worked, he couldn't help himself and was pulled back to doctor Collins and the events of two days past. The man obviously gave him only those harmless vitamin supplements again, because he'd never felt better. His hands were steady, his vision didn't turn blurry every time he moved quickly. His head felt more clear, than ever.

Did the MI6 really care that much for him? He wasn't of use to them any longer anyways, so why would Menzies want to help him in such an elaborate way? He could have just forced the judge to let him go without issuing a punishment.

But of course, Alan wanted the young man, who tried to rob him, convicted of the crime, so he had to come down to the office and confirm their accusations. Admitting to have committed an act of gross indecency with Arnold Murray, who then broke into his house, put the said man in jail faster, than he could imagine and it felt good, because in the end – he won. Was it worth being sentenced to a chemical castration and a year long hormonal treatment?

Some would say, that it wasn't worth it – like his brother John, who told him, how foolish he was to confess everything so openly, but Alan knew better. He knew, what would follow. But Arnold broke into his home. He broke inside and damaged Christopher in his desperate search for something valuable. And that, that was something Alan couldn't forgive. That was an act, that needed to be punished.

Oh, Arnold certainly thought, he won't bring the attempted robbery to the officials. He thought, he was safe, because the risks outweighed the benefits for Alan, but no...he had to win. It was an itch for revenge, for what's been done to his Christopher and nothing could have stopped him from accomplishing it.

And so he succeeded, which meant he had to live with the consequences of his victory. Except no, he didn't exactly, because the doctor helped him avoid the organo-treatment. Alan just wished, he'd know why. Doctor Collins did say, he will explain it all later, but it's been two days and his curiosity has not been satisfied yet.

He frowned, looking over Christopher's insides, spotting another problem in the wiring, so he combed his fingers lightly through the cables. And then there was suddenly a knock on the front door and that made his frown intensify, because it was rather late for any kind of visits.

So he did the logical thing and decided to ignore the visitor, turning back to his cables. Another knock came and his fingers twitched with annoyance, as he dropped the cable from being startled.

“Go away!” he yelled, hoping it would reach the front door. “I am busy!”

But of course, the knocking didn't stop, so he assumed it could only be Joan and that woman never gave up, so he let go of the wires, stamping his way trough the living room and down the hallway. He opened the door with a violent jerk.

“Joan, could you please just...,” he started, but seeing the man standing in his doorway, he let the sentence fade into nothingness.

“Good evening, Alan,” said doctor Collins and smiled, which made Alan's heart do all sorts of profane things. It must have been the excitement of finally learning the truth, that caused this effect.

“You...you are not Joan,” he said, stating the obvious.

“By far,” doctor nodded, snorting. He wasn't wearing his white coat anymore. Instead he wore a dark suit, which looked oddly familiar and after a few moments, Alan realized why – it reminded his of his old school uniform.

“What are you doing here?” he questioned, forcing the nostalgia down.

“I promised to explain everything, didn't I?” doctor Collins said, his hands sliding into his pockets leisurely. “So here I am...to explain.”

Alan looked back behind him, eying the watch standing in the corner. It was way past ten. Also, he was ready to have this conversation already two days ago, so he wasn't exactly pleased by this late-night visit.

“I would advice you to define your promises with a more precise time dimension next time,” he snapped. “Because not only is the word 'later' very vague, but also it is rude to let people wait for an indefinite length of time. Especially, if you...you wake their curiosity.”

“I apologize, I will certainly consider the time dimension more next time,” he answered in all seriousness, a slight smile never leaving his lips.

Alan's eyebrows furrowed, as he tried to find a hint of sarcasm, but of course, he wouldn't have recognized one, even if it had been there. Although, there was something about the man, that made Alan believe anything, he said. Making the decision, he turned around then, leaving the door open, and walked back inside the house.

Hearing the door click and the footsteps following him, he felt a wave of excitement flooded his ribcage, as he entered his living room. Doctor Collins did so a few breaths later and Alan watched him look around the room, just as he did the first time, he visited.

“It's quite tidy,” the doctor remarked, eying the nicely stacked books and the hanged coding documents, “compared to the last time.”

“Yes...well yes,” Alan stuttered, glancing around too. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “I...was feeling better, thanks to your treatment void of feminine hormones.”

“That I can see,” the doctor nodded, scanning him thoroughly with his eyes. After he was satisfied, he turned his head to the left, eying the machine in the next room with awe.

“How is Christopher?” he asked then.

“Good, good, it's just...,” Alan waved his hand nonchalantly. “I just needed to make some minor adjustments in the wiring.”

They stood there silently then, in the middle of the living room, for a whole three seconds, according to Alan's brain and then doctor Collins grabbed the wooden chair and placed it in front of the displaced armchair.

“Alright then,” he said, sitting down. “Shall we resume our game?”

“You read my papers?” Alan asked curiously, putting his hand on the armchair's back, gripping the material tightly.

The doctor didn't answer the question, he just went on with his own topic: “You said, I am playing a game and that is true. I am not, what I pretend to be and the only way to determine, what I really am is through a series of questions, right? That is what the imitation game is essentially about.”

“Well...well it is actually supposed to make the judge be able to determine,” he started, ready to explain the whole theory, but he stopped then, realizing there are more important things right now. “But yes....essentially...it should help to see the difference in human and machine thinking. I should warn you, though. I am a math genius and since I am back to my health....well let's just say I am prone to solving puzzles and you mister Collins...you certainly are a puzzle for me.”

“I am well aware of that,” the doctor shrugged, beckoning him to sit down into the armchair. “Go on then, be a judge of mine.”

Alan almost wasn't even able to let go of the back of the armchair to walk around it and sit down – he was that excited. But he forced his limb to follow his brain's orders and managed to sit down opposite to doctor Collins quite quickly.

“Why would you-,” he started impatiently, but was interrupted by the doctor right away: “That's not the right question, Alan, you know that.”

Alan thought about that for a second, the wheels in his brain turning at top speed. He glanced at his opponent, locking his eyes with him and breathed: “Who are you?”

“Doctor Collins,” answered the man, a teasing smile playing along his lips.

Alan pursed his lips then, sliding his sweaty palms over his thighs, his eyes never leaving the doctor's.

“Who are you really?” he quizzed, his hands clenching into fists.

Doctor Collins smiled at that, his dark eyes practically twinkling with amusement. He leaned in closer and said: “Are you paying attention? Good. Let me tell you my story then.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Here we go, my precious children - story time! :)
> 
> \----------

Alan was almost tempted to hold his breath, when doctor Collins started to tell his story, but he refrained from doing so. It will obviously be a rather long story and he didn't want to suffocate himself. Instead, he turned all his attention to the other man's voice and listened.

“The family, I was born into, was not only quite large, but also very wealthy,” started the doctor. “You see, all of it's members were either strongly artistic from my mother's side or vigorously scientific from my father's side, so money and prestige came naturally.”

“It already started with my grandfather, who had been an entrepreneur in stationery steam engines, which of course was a huge business affair that time. He encouraged my father to follow in his footsteps and helped him to become the chairman of a certain Birmingham company, which builds steaming turbines and air compressors.”

“At that time, my father has just married my mother and moved into a large country house near Bromsgrove in Worchestershire. It took years for them to restore it into it's glory, but after it was finished, it was probably the most wonderful place to live in for me and my older brother.”

“I remember once, when we were quite young, my brother still an elementary schoolboy, we led all the goats from my mother's goat farm into her atelier, where she taught art. They chewed through all the artwork and she wasn't even mad. She just laughed and told her students to use the scraps for collages.”

“So kind... my mother truly was. And my father he... but a social status is a funny thing. I learned that early in my age. It makes people do and act differently. It makes them do things, one would never even consider under normal circumstances... They just wanted the best for us, I know now, but...it involved retaining the family status and walking in their shoes.”

“And my older brother was a glowing example of that effort. He went to a prestigious academy and won a scholarship in science at Cambridge after that, which helped him to get a job in research in Zurich... and I'm not saying that's a bad thing. I've also always enjoyed science and most of that astronomy, but you must understand – it wasn't the path that bothered me, it was the way our parents scowled, if I ever so threatened the family status.”

“I did so a lot, back at the academy. Not intentionally, of course, but still. In my first year, I got into lots of trouble, because I thought it would be entertaining to drop stones down train funnels from the nearby railway bridge, but unfortunately, one of those stones struck a railwayman and I would have ended up on parole, weren't it for my father's secret donation.”

“My parents urged me to stay in line after that incident, but that didn't stop me for too long. Beginning the second year, I managed to send gas-filled balloons over the field to the Girl's School and truth be told, I still think it was rather hilarious, but none of the professors would agree with that, so my parents got called over once again and I had to suffer through the consequences.”

“They... took me back home from the academy for a few days, as they always did, after I succeeded at some mischief and well...let the staff discipline me. I...my parents would never...but they were awfully busy and I was mostly left alone with the housemaster and he could be very strict in his methods – nobody knew, I've never told anybody, how I was forbidden food or whacked with his cane or sometimes even left outside all night. Well, I was quite a sickly child and such treatment didn't make me any healthier.”

“And so I would miss school, even for a month or two, which luckily didn't affect my studies much, because I was a rather bright young man. To be honest, I was considered the brightest in many classes, until I met a certain young boy, who...well, even if his methods were quite crude, he had the most genius ideas ever.”

“I noticed him first, think it was right before that balloon incident and he was sitting behind the table in the refectory and I remember it, as if it was yesterday, because we had vegetable soup that day and it was my favorite meal that time.”

“At first, I thought the boy just wasn't hungry or maybe hated vegetable soup, because he was staring at it intently and just...stirring through it with his spoon, but then I noticed, every full spoon, he put into his mouth, contained one piece of every vegetable inside the soup.”

“I was so intrigued by that, I almost forgot to eat my own meal that day. I wanted to speak to him the next day, but unfortunately the balloon incident and the following sickness due to being left two winter nights outside, confined me at home for a few long weeks.”

“I thought, I wouldn't have a chance to talk to that boy anymore, but when I returned back to the academy, there he was, in Eperson's math class for advanced students, as if he was waiting for me this whole time, which of course, was a ludicrous thought, but I couldn't stop myself from wondering about it.”

“As it turned out, he was even more interesting up close and his math...I have never met a boy my age, who could keep up with me until then. And he, although a year younger, could not only do so, but also had a mind, that could easily overshadow any of our professors.”

“And so we began setting one another our pet problems during the math class and discussing our pet methods after it, if there was time. I've always wished, I could just talk more to him, but of course, being from a different house... the school staff did not encourage such... indecencies. And I had my parents' status to think about, since I wanted to avoid another... 'disciplinary vacation', as I used to call it.”

“A few weeks later I... I admit I did a rather foolish thing, but...we talked about the ratio of a circle's circumference to it's diameter before Eperson's class began and he just started to recite the value of π suddenly. He calculated it in his head to thirty-six decimate places right away...and I was so overwhelmed, watching him count off one number after another...I sneaked into the secretary’s office later that day and copied his timetable.”

“I found out, that during a certain period on Wednesdays afternoon set for private study, he would have to walk around the library to get back to his own house. And since the library was the only place students could stay longer without any suspicion, I would go sit there, right in the line of sight from the large glass entrance and wait for him to pass.”

“It was a quite desperate act, but it payed off, because after two unfruitful weeks, he noticed me and walked over...and we ended up sitting together, reading through chemistry books in comfortable silence. From that day, we met there every week and although I felt bad for stealing his free study time, I couldn't help, but feel happy about our time together.”

“Needless to say, I had a suspicion, the feeling was mutual, because the next day, he suddenly joined the gramophone society, which I was a keen member of, since I started the academy. I was a quite fine piano player, after all, but he...he admitted to have very little interest in music itself. I often mentally theorized, why did he actually join a musical club, but never dared to voice that question. But every time I played anything, I imagined to play it for him only, hoping he would enjoy at least my music, if nothing else.”

“And so we spent the next year - I tried to stay out of trouble, so I wouldn't be forced to stay home for longer periods of time... our little time together became so precious to me... I was encouraged to work in my studies even harder, which he probably resented slightly, because it made my scores much better than his, but inside, I was bellowing in victory, because it kept him interested.”

“Out library studies together were successful in a way, I would have never foreseen, because a year later, there was a shuffle in my year and we both ended up with the same classes. And I couldn't be more happy, when he always chose to sit down right next to me without a hesitation. I tried to act, as if it was nothing special though and sometimes I even made a comment about what a coincidence it was, that my place was always free for him to take, but of course – it was no coincidence at all.”

“Unfortunately, I didn't enjoy that privilege for long, because I became sick and that state didn't improve at home at all, because the housemaster thought running outside in winter would harden sickly boys like me. I hated him so much for that, because it was his fault, I missed half of the spring term, which I could have spend in a far better company.”

“But at least I had the letters, we sent to each other during that period... I always enjoyed his ideas, although they lacked in detail, as his solutions were prone to mathematical slips. But since I could never have ideas like that, I learned to take his and perfect them in ways, he didn't have the patience to perform.”

“The few weeks without him also gave me an opportunity to think about our...affiliation. I never felt anything like that...like what I felt for him and it went past the feelings, I had for my brother for instance. I neglected to think about it for all these months, that I knew him, but that time...lying miserably in bed, I realized, I missed him in a much deeper way, that one would miss a classmate.”

“I was not ready to confess any of these feelings. Nor to him, nor to my family, but since I finally noticed them... it made me think about such relationships. And I realized, it was not seen as decorous in our society. On the contrary, it was viewed as a sick indecency, which of course made no sense to me whatsoever.”

“As if the fate itself heard my thoughts, after I returned back to the academy, I had to write a long essay about the right and wrong in the society. I did write the perfect example of an essay, but it was far from what I actually thought. And when I talked to my precious friend after the lesson, I couldn't help myself, but to tell him, that my sense of right and wrong is very define, but it does not necessary correspond with the one our society has, which probably only made him confused, but it made me feel a lot better about what I actually decided to write in that essay.”

“In the summer term, I got to spend a bit more time with him, because we ended up doing the revision for the Higher School Certificate and I was pleased to hear, that I actually helped him a lot during our studies. I even overheard Andrews saying that my dearest friend finally improved his style in written word, which must be obviously my own accomplishment. I must admit, I noticed him trying to make his horrible handwriting a bit more legible for my sake, but I would have never thought, it would actually result in a better score for him. Needless to say, I was very pleased with myself.”

“Also, my brother got that prestigious research opportunity during that summer, so I was only happy to have more to discuss with my precious friend, because he always seemed to be ever so interested in my brother's experiments, which we then tried to conduct during our chemistry classes together.”

“I must say, I'd never really felt much lust for anybody, but there was this one day, when he commented on one of those experiments and I am sure the whole classroom must have noticed my feelings for him, although it might have been just my paranoia whispering such awful things.”

“We were just mixing the solutions of iodates, which were his old favorite, and sulphines, when he suddenly looked at me and whispered: 'It is a beautiful experiment. Two solutions are mixed together for some very definite period of time and then the whole suddenly becomes deep blue.' I could have sworn the whole world stopped turning, when he'd said that.”

“My brain must have malfunctioned at that time from all the nuances I noticed, because I wasn't even able to answer properly. So I just nodded, feeling embarrassed by those deep stirrings inside me and tried to ignore it for the rest of the lesson, which eminently made my friend worried, that I might be getting sick once again.”

“What he didn't know was, that I was indeed starting to feel a little sick...except the reason for that were my indecent feelings towards him. And that was, why I refused his invitation to spend some time at his house during the holidays. I was so afraid, I would somehow jeopardize our friendship with those odd stirrings, that I made up a long family trip abroad and pretended to be unable to write back for that period of time, which eventually only made me more miserable.”

“But the letters kept coming every few days and my heart kept aching to read them. And when I finally got over the fear of indecency and opened them... I realized this feeling, that I developed towards him won't just go away, because it was something more, something serious...suddenly the idea of graduating from the academy in few months and going to Cambridge just like my brother did, didn't sound as appealing, as it did all those years ago.”

“Luckily, as if sensing my distress, my dearest friend informed me, he will be trying to win the scholarship for Cambridge a year sooner and I was secretly hoping it was all, because he couldn't bear the thought of me leaving him alone for a long year. It was a ridiculous thought, but I couldn't help it either way.”

“The Cambridge examinations opened up the prospect of a whole week in his company, unconstrained by the house system and I was looking forward to it so much, I even forgot about the stress of getting the scholarship. I convinced a friend of mine to drive us from London to Cambridge both, so we only had to pay for the train tickets to London itself.”

“As we stepped into the train, he sat down opposite of me and I couldn't believe my luck, that the seats were so close together, our knees kept touching all along the ride. It was the first time, we were somewhere unsupervised – nobody was looking weirdly at us, as we discussed the examination, going through some last minute math problems.”

“People kept admiring the landscape, we passed around and I kept admiring him right in front of me, so close, I could just reach my hand and touch him. But I didn't of course. I knew I shouldn't, so I refrained myself.”

“Arriving to London, we had some time to spare, before my friend could come over, so I led my precious friend through the streets to my mother's studio, where we ended up playing at chipping marble from a bust, that she was working on.”

“Truth be told, I've never had a more pleasurable lunch, than we had later that day in my mother's flat. We had this game, you see, where we pretended some harmless things were poisonous.”

“You see, it started with the carrots. He always sorted his food - peas on one side, carrots on the other...so I would tease him, he's doing well sorting out the 'deadly stuff', since I have always hated carrots.“

“That day I had pushed the joke a bit further and said the vanadium in my mother's special steel cutlery was being absolutely deadly and he laughed so hard, I just wanted to grab him close and kiss him right there, in front of my mother.”

“He was...I knew he would accomplish something utterly brilliant given the time... but yes, some people called him odd and did mean things to him, because he was a pedant like that. Some of our classmates even bullied him for it. Needless to say, he never had a filter on his mouth and lots of those conflicts escalated, because he'd said something, he shouldn't have. I tried to explain to him more times, that calling someone imbecile to his face would only resolve in violence but...he never really could help himself.”

“The week in Cambridge...it is indeed the dearest memory, I hold of him. We had a room only to ourselves. There were no light-outs, no supervision... I felt giddy only seeing the beds across each other in the small room, when we arrived. They were so close, I could just reach his bed with two longer steps.”

“The only thing, that actually irked me, was the dinner later that day, that was held in the Hall. We changed into our formal clothes quickly after the arrival, I barely had time to glace over a few times, and headed down, our shoulder touching. I couldn't have been happier, until we sat down under the portrait of Newton and met Maurice Pryce.”

“He was sitting across of us, pulling my dearest friend into a heated conversation about mathematics immediately. In all honesty, I was barely able to contain my jealousy. How could this simpleton catch his attention so easily, I wondered bitterly. He claimed to already have failed the examination last year and laughed, as if it was some incredible joke. Watching him, I promised myself I would get that scholarship, even if my brain had to implode from the exertion.”

“The feelings of jealousy didn't subside even after the dinner, when that dimwit went back to his temporary dorms. We let ourselves be dragged out to play Bridge with other classmates, who got there to be examined too, but my head was not in the game, not fully, I kept glancing at _him_ , wanting to have him for myself only.” 

“And so, after the others left, because the dorm closed off at ten o'clock, I asked him to stay with me and play for a while longer, which of course, he refused, because he didn't want to be left outside all night – it was such an irrational idea, I knew that, I don't know, why I asked that of him, but... the rejection made me feel a bit dejected either way and I just went to bed that night without any second thoughts.”

“I was quite moody the next day, still feeling embarrassed from the previous night, but the day was rather busy, so he probably didn't even notice. He rarely did notice emotions under normal circumstances and this was the examination week, after all. In the end I just locked it all in the corner of my brain and tried to concentrate on the questions.”

“When we finally returned back to the dorms that evening, I couldn't be more surprised, when he proposed a game of Rummy, because I looked very upset the whole day and games apparently always cheered me up. He pushed his blankets aside and beckoned me to his bed, where we played till midnight. I couldn't help the broad smile appearing on my face, when I noticed it was past ten and he said he wants to keep playing with me to make amends for yesterday's refusal.”

“I was in such a high spirits for the rest of the week, I felt, as if I could pass any exam there was. Most of the math problems were all familiar and they made warmth spill into my chest, because we solved them all together before. The once I saw for the first time, I solved anyways, just to spite that imbecile Maurice Pryce.”

“We spend hours talking on our beds and sleeping so close to each other, that I had trouble ignoring my indecent stirrings, but I managed. Just watching his face, while he slept was enough. Just hearing his breath in the same room was sufficient. I was so sad, the week was coming to an end, that I summoned all my courage and asked him to come to the cinema with me. He looked at me incredulously and I lost all the courage, saying that a friend of mine is going too, so why not join him.”

“And so I slipped away to convince Norman Heatley, who was a friend from my preparation school and now a student at Cambridge to show us around a bit and go to the cinema with us. He agreed immediately, when I said I will pay for it all and invited some of his friends too.”

“I was being ever so pleasant to all of them, but I hated their company with all my heart, because I just wanted to be with  _him_ . Why did I back out of the initial proposal? I chastised myself during the movie and regretted the whole idea.”

“And obviously my dearest friend wasn't so thrilled about the whole situation either, because on the way back from the cinema, he just hung back, walking behind Heatley, who was reading some flier from the cinema. So I locked my eyes with him, stopping at the side of the pavement and beckoned him to me. A slight smile appeared on his lips seeing the gesture and my heart almost jumped out of my chest, seeing him close the distance between us without hesitation.”

“We walked back to the dorms together, my heart beating stupidly fast for no apparent reason. As we stepped into the room, I realized, it's our last night in the same room and suddenly my heart was like a marching band, I was barely able to change into pajamas, trying to not stare too much, because I knew, it would be rather inappropriate.”

“Lying in the bed that night, I opened my mouth a few times like a fish on a dry land - I wanted to say something, I wanted to describe him that feeling I had in a damn math formula, if I had to, but I couldn't bring myself to actually push the words over my lips.”

“I lied in my bed, staring at the white ceiling and listened to his breath, as it turned deeper with sleep. But my heart wouldn't calm down to let me sleep too. There was this odd buzzing in my ears and it was getting louder by any minute.”

“It got so loud, I couldn't even hear his breath anymore and I must have panicked, because I climbed out of my bed, crawled the two meters dividing us and pressed my forehead to the cold metal rim of his bed. It calmed me down a little and I exhaled heavily, realizing I've been holding my breath all this time. And then he suddenly moved and his hand drifted closer to me, his fingers stopping mere centimeters away from my temple. I swallowed nervously, listening for any change in his breathing, but luckily he kept on sleeping deeply.”

“The darkness must have made me bold, because without thinking, I moved my head until it connected with his hand. His fingertips were warm and pliant and I couldn't stop myself and pressed my cheek to them. But I did not dare to do more and an abrupt wave of indecency made me finally pull away a few minutes later and go back to my own bed.”

“And so the week ended and we parted heading home for Christmas. A week later the results of the examination were published in the The Times and my heart sank, seeing I did make it, but he didn't and so I tried to cheer him up with a long letter about my observations of the night sky, which he started to enjoy more and more, from what I could assess from his handwriting.”

“I must admit, his next letter startled me. He must have been really upset about his failure, because he asked me advice, if he shouldn't just go to a different college next year, because he clearly wasn't good enough for Cambridge. I almost tore the letter in half and threw it out of the window, but then I sat down, writing out the reply. 'I really can't give you any advice about exams, because it has nothing to do with me and I feel it would not be quite right of me...,' I wrote, hoping it didn't sound as angry, as I felt.”

“It took me a while to find some appropriate words, but eventually, I decided to end the letter with the following: 'I would prefer you to come to Cambridge though, so I could see more of you.' Maybe it was selfish and indecorous of me, but I didn't care anymore. He was, after all...very dear to me.”

“Coming back to school, there was a surprise waiting for me – a star globe, that he made for me, because I mentioned in one of my letters, that I always wanted to make one, but never got around to actually start out the mapping. There were but a few constellations marked in, but I was amazed by his erudition nonetheless.”

“Unfortunately, I had nothing to give back to him, but he just smiled, saying I already gave him that guide to codes and ciphers, which he enjoys to read that much. So just to make it up to him, I started to send him all kinds of little notes, written out in our own code. It seemed to please him ever so much and I couldn't help but smile, every time, he glanced at the gibberish lines.”

“I thought...I thought I had so much time,...it was just three week into the spring term, when I saw him the last time. Some visiting singers gave a concert at the academy and we ended up sitting next to each other, huddled in the corner and I felt so dizzy the whole time. I assumed it was from the proximity, but later that night I realized I had fallen ill and it was quite serious.”

“The housemaster has called and ambulance to drive me to the hospital in London, after I passed out of the fever. I woke up a few times in delirium, seeing my parents next to my bed and since I thought I would die, I confessed everything. My clouded mind obviously thought, they needed to know, how I felt about the same gender. They all said it's a sickness. They said that's, what is actually making me so sick. I tried to argue, but they wouldn't listen and I was too weak to insist.”

“Four days later, when I was finally starting to feel better, I woke up into a lucid enough moment, seeing my father standing next to my bed. He informed me, that I am to be transferred secretly into a different medical facility, where they were supposed to cure me from my twisted afflictions.”

“I should have tried to lie to him. I should have said, it was all just the sickness talking, but instead I argued, finding my long lost courage, that what I felt, was nothing to be ashamed of and that I would not, under no circumstances, let him force me into some ludicrous treatment, that was obviously designed by a madman.” 

“With my parents knowing, my grandfather found out not long after. And he...well, he was worried about the family's status, since he worked so hard for us to gain it. It would dirty the family name, if somebody found out, I was...sick like that. So he thought of a better way to get rid of me. He bribed the doctor and staged my death. I was left alone on the street with a bag full of my clothes, that my crying mother managed to pack, a stack of money, a ticket to America and false documentation, that said my surname was Collins from then on.”

“And so...as easy as that, I no longer existed. I was dead to the world, which I was born into. I was... I... I left,” doctor Collins stuttered, looking away from Alan. “Maybe I could have stayed, maybe I should have stayed, but at that time, I truly believed, my indecency would only destroy  _him_ too, just as it almost managed to destroy my family.” 

“And so, I let him go his own path... and got aboard the ship to America. After getting there, I used the stack of money to pay for my medical studies. I wanted to, well...see, how much of this theory about my affliction was true...it wasn't easy, but I was smart and determined. and well, I managed to get a degree without a problem...and then after the war, I finally came back from America.”

“Nobody would remember me here anymore anyways. But then I... Alan, there was an article about your trial. I just...I just wanted to make sure, you'll be alright, so I took a place at the Manchester Royal Infirmary and...well, here we are.”

And with that, the man sitting opposite to Alan looked back at him and nodded, as if confirming all the fleeting familiar things he noticed were true, and he was not getting crazy after all.

“You asked me, who I am,” the doctor sighed, rubbing his fingers together. “I am Christopher Collins, formerly known as Christopher Morcom.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

Alan stared at the man in front of him, trying to comprehend, what exactly has just happened. Oh, he understood the words well enough, he was never really that stupid, not even in his medicated state, but the meaning of them seemed way too unbelievable to be true. It couldn't be, could it?

But there he was, sitting in complete silence, letting himself be scanned by Alan's bright eyes. He looked at him closely then, his eyes squinting slightly, as he assessed his features. His hair was much lighter than he remembered, but maybe it was just the darkness of the room, which was only lit by two little lights in the corner of the ceiling.

Alan roamed his face, examining the shape of his nose, the thinness of his lips, the freshly shaven cheeks, the slightly square jaw – every little molecule standing between his forehead and his neck and he swallowed recognizing something, he tried so hard to ignore for the last few weeks.

“It's time for you to judge, Alan,” the man whispered, his hands twitching slightly over his knees. He blinked a few times, taking a deep breath it, as if to steel himself against the judgment and continued. “So...what am I? Am I...a machine? Am I human?”

Alan frowned, his posture all stiff. He turned his head automatically to the right, to look into the room, where Christopher hummed gently and then looked back at the man in front of him claiming to actually be Christopher. His words were lost to him, the shock was way too drastic.

“I don't understand,” he finally managed to push between his trembling lips, his fingers grasping at the rim of the armchair, making his knuckles turn white.

“Yes, you do,” the man nodded, encouraging him.

“You're mistaken, I...don't...,” Alan shook his head slightly, opening and closing his mouth, wanting to add something more, but there was nothing. “I don't know you...”

“Did you forget about me, Alan?” the man asked, his tone incredulous and Alan felt a painful pang in his chest, as he said those words. “Why would you call your machine after me then?”

“You...you can't be...him, he is...,” Alan stumbled, letting go of the armchair, as he raised his hands to point at the other man. His fingers quivered slightly and his voice wavered. He was so close to a break down, he could feel some kind of a panic rise inside of him, so he did the only thing he could, the only thing that ever made sense to him – he applied logic.

“Ah, of course,” he muttered, staring at the carpet. “You...you are not really here...it's the hormonal treatment, it's...it's messing with my brain, it's clouding my judgment, altering the reality into some cruel...hallucinations.”

“I suppose, that would be the logical assumption given the circumstances,” the man sighed, leaning back into the chair. “Except I changed your treatment weeks ago and you should be clean by now.”

Alan didn't answer, staring stubbornly at the ground, his fingertips rubbing over his forehead. The doctor just stared at him for a second, his eyes sad, but understanding.

“Remember The Adventure of the Blanched Soldier?” he asked suddenly, remembering the said short story about Sherlock Holmes. Alan looked up at him at that, his hand falling down into his lap.

“When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth," he recited, his lips pursing in contemplation after the line, going over all the facts in his head. 

He never did see Christopher's dead body, after all, even if he did go to the funeral, the casket was closed and buried. The headmaster, who told him about the death, knew so from the family and Alan, of course, exchanged a few letters with Christopher's mother expressing his condolences, but she'd never...was she lying about her son's state this whole time?

Even when she invited him over to their house for the weekend, when the funeral took place? Mrs. Morcom was so kind to him that time, she even gave him a photo of Christopher, which he has kept in the book about coding. Were they all liars? Or was this man just trying to trick him?

But if he was just a trickster, how could he possibly know all those things? All the details about their time spent together...the only person, that could have known about their nights in Cambridge was Christopher. Only he could know, what happened the last night. Only he could describe, how he got up in the middle of the night and stumbled over to his bed, where Alan pretended to be long asleep.

Alan remembered that night quite vividly. He remembered the urge to touch Christopher in the dark, when he knelt near his bed. He remembered, how his arm moved on it's own accord and he panicked, stopping it right before it could reach him. And he remembered the warmth of Christopher's cheek under his fingers, accompanied by his own pounding heart.

He got so lost in the memories, possibly spending the last few minutes just staring into the carpet without any reaction, that he didn't even notice as Christopher, the real-life Christopher, got up from the chair, until that familiar voice startled him into reality. He looked up, befuddled.

“I see you have a lot to think about,” Christopher nodded, his mouth twisting into that familiar shape of sadness and regret. “I...will leave you to it then.”

He didn't even get the chance to turn around and head for the front door, because Alan blanched at his words, leaping out of the armchair and grabbed his forearm.

“Don't,” he whispered frantically, his fingers tightening around the flesh covered by a blazer.

“Don't you see? I'm just an annoying ghost, hunting you from the beyond,” Christopher shook his head, his arm twitching slightly to see how hard was Alan holding him, but he couldn't break free, even he tried to jerk his arm harder.

“I shouldn't have assumed...,” he muttered glancing back at the room, where the machine resided. “We were never like that...and I left without explaining...and now I'm just a...you deserve so much better, so much better. You were right before, you know, I probably wouldn't understand, how your machine worked, even if you explained it to me. I... gave up mathematics, because they reminded me of you way too much and poured all my energy into becoming an extraordinary doctor. And...I'm not even a Morcom anymore...I'm just a reasonably well earning faceless doctor from America, you can't possibly still...”

“I do,” Alan interrupted him pleadingly. “Please just...I've always...”

Christopher looked around at him then, his eyes stormy, when they locked into his. Alan didn't say anything, he didn't know what to say anymore. He only knew, he couldn't let him leave him once again, because then he might never come back. And that...that would destroy Alan. He wouldn't be able to cope with his death all over again.

“Please,” he whispered again, tears glistening in his eyes, as they looked over at the other man. A sob escaped him then, finally realizing who is standing there in front of him with a warm body, once again breathing and looking at him with those same eyes as all those years ago – the eyes he'd never thought to see again.

“Don't leave me alone. I can't lose you again...I...can't... I know it's you now, I understand, I'm sorry it took me so long. My...my brain was not...it is you, isn't it?” he asked hesitantly, letting go of Christopher's forearm, as is he was scared to bruise him suddenly. He let his fingers slide down the arm, lingering at the elbow for a second and then let his hand drop, just staring at  _him_ . 

“Human,” Alan concluded.

Christopher smiled at that, taking a deep shaky breath in, which sounded almost like a painful sob. He blinked a few times, presumably to push the tears back into his eye sockets and said: “Hello, my dearest friend.”

He watched the corners of Alan's mouth lift a little at that, his eyes filling with tears and his lower lip trembling, as he lifted his hand to press it to his mouth, trying to stifle the sobs wrenching themselves out of his throat. His mouth twisted down then and he began to cry, hunching over, when the weeping overwhelmed him.

Christopher just stepped in closer to him, barely holding back his own tears and lifted his hand hesitantly, sliding his fingers through Alan's messy hair to the nape of his neck. He pulled him gently closer and Alan went, clasping his free hand into the front of Christopher's dark blazer.

“Shhh, it's alright,” he muttered, sliding his fingers over the back of Alan's head. “I'm sorry, I left you...so sorry....”

Alan just sobbed harder at that, his head pressing onto Christopher's shoulder, as his body convulsed with heart wrenching sobs.

“I'm here now, Alan,” the doctor tried to reassure him, putting his other hand around the crying man and stroking him gently up and down his back in a calming motion. “I'm here now, shhhh...”

At that moment, Christopher couldn't help himself, overcome by the other man's reaction and started to cry too, hugging him close to his body, because he was too afraid to let go.

 

~o~

 

Alan awoke into a total darkness, sprawled on the couch in the far away corner of the living room and panicked. He reached over to the empty space in front of him, hoping to find a body, but it _was_ empty, not even a pillow occupied the free space there.

He stumbled hurriedly up, knocking down the only two pillows he owned, his heart beating frantically, as fear rose from his chest, filling his head with panic. It couldn't have been all a dream, could it? But he realized, it must have been, because his old friend was nowhere to be seen.

“Christopher...?” he croaked silently, already knowing, he won't be getting an answer. The responding silence only grew louder and louder and he wobbled hesitantly through the dark room into the kitchen. But that room was also empty.

He ran quickly up the stairs, searching his own room and the bathroom, but they were also void of any presence.

“No, please,” he sobbed, turning around in a circle. “It couldn't have been...,” he whined, feeling a horrible sadness press onto his chest. He could barely breathe, as he stumbled down the stairs again, searching through the living room again, but there was no Christopher. So he stumbled into the adjoined room and suddenly stopped in his tracks, noticing the empty space around him. 

His machine Christopher was also gone and back at him stared only the empty white walls. Seeing it made his knees give out from under him. He folded himself on the ground and whined desperately.

“No, no please,” he cried. His shoulders shook uncontrollably, his hands with them, but he couldn't help it. There was no coming back for the old Christopher, he was dead, after all. And nothing can bring the dead back. And there was no finding his stolen machine. He was alone. He was all alone in this wide world.

 

~o~

 

“Alan?” he heard suddenly and when he opened his eyes, there were gentle beams of sunshine shining into his eyes and he was once again cuddled into a ball on his couch in the living room, a warm hand shaking his shoulder.

“Alan...?” repeated Christopher's voice and he looked up at the man sitting next to him with a folder in his hands. Relief washed over his body in a number of powerful waves and he sighed deeply.

“Christopher,” he breathed barely audibly, staring at the ghost sitting right next to him. He reached his hand over and calmed down, when his fingers encountered warm flesh.

“Good morning, Alan,” the doctor stared at him incredulously. “Are you alright?”

Alan just realized, he's been caressing Christopher's thigh and his cheeks felt suddenly way too warm, as he pulled his hand away quickly, sitting up straight.

“I...yes, yes of course, it was... just a dream,” he muttered, his face brightly red. He ran his hands over his shirt, because it was way too crumpled from his sleep. He looked up back at Christopher again then, making sure, he really was there and when the other man looked back at him, smiling slightly, Alan felt suddenly very happy, the whole disappearance was just a dream.

“G-good morning,” he stumbled, watching the smile on Christopher's lips broaden visibly. It was such a familiar picture, his heart clenched painfully, reminded of their time together at the Cambridge dorms.

“I borrowed these to read,” he informed him, waving around some of his cryptography notes on Christopher, which were probably lying around on the little table to their right.

Alan just nodded wordlessly, still staring at him. So Christopher lifted his eyebrows in question and waited, but Alan didn't say a word anyways.

“Everything I told you yesterday was true, you know,” Christopher said suddenly, as if he couldn't hold it back any longer. He was after all, waiting all this time, while Alan slept, exhausted from the crying. “And I... I hope we can use this opportunity to... maybe start things over. I obviously do not care, what other people might think about our...because I still...that is, I always have...but of course, I don't expect you to...maybe we could just... obviously it needs to stay a secret for both of our safety...but that doesn't mean...if you...”

Alan interrupted his frantic speech by getting up silently and walking out of the living room right into the kitchen. He crossed it hurriedly, leaving Christopher without a word and walked up the stairs, heading into his room, where he grabbed a certain book from his nightstand.

He walked down the staircase immediately then, shuffling through the living room, he stopped in front of Christopher and handed him the red book.

“A Guide to Codes and Ciphers, “ Christopher read the title under his breath and smiled a little, caressing the cover.

“Page one hundred and twenty-one,” Alan mumbled and the other man looked up at him, frowning. He studied Alan's face for a few seconds and then opened the book at the said page. There was an old-looking piece of paper lying there. It must have been folded and smoothed out a few times, judging by the lines, which led through the letters.

Christopher glanced over at the letters and his frown deepened. It was all gibberish, written in their old code and he blanched, because he had no idea, what it meant anymore.

“Alan, I...,” he shook his head, staring at the eight letters, feeling suddenly very sad. “I'm sorry, I don't...”

“It's not hard to guess, even if you couldn't remember the code,” Alan said from above him, a deep affection seeping into his words.

Christopher looked back at the letters, the wheels behind his eyes turning in concentration. “Wait,” he breathed surprised.

“This was an 'o',” he said pointing at the two 'q' letters in the middle of the second and the third word. He learned that one first, because it was almost the same shape as it's original.

“Correct,” Alan praised happily.

“And this,” Christopher continued, sliding to the 'e'. “This one is the same as the original, if my memory ain't mistaken.”

“Yes,” Alan agreed, but Christopher was too amerced in the cipher to notice his widening smile. As the initial shock of not remembering the code passed, he started to recognize one letter after another and at first, he thought it spelled 'I owe you', but there was one more letter and when he realized, what it meant he gasped and looked up at Alan, standing in front of him nervously, with his hands clasped behind his back.

“When did you write this?” he breathed in astonishment, gesturing at the little piece of paper in the book.

“After the concert. I wanted to give it to you the next day,” Alan answered and his eyes turned sad for a second, but it was gone in a blink of an eye, a nostalgic look replacing the sadness. “Of course, I...I felt attracted to you from the first time I saw you all those years ago. I saw you only fleetingly, as you walked by. I wanted to see your face once again. I thought I was ever so lucky, meeting you in that advanced math class later and finding out, how brilliant you were.”

“Oh,” Christopher commented, looking back at the coded message. “If I had known that time, I would have...”

“You know now,” Alan intercepted, his voice suddenly strong with emotion. Christopher never heard him like that before and it made him look up at the other man once again.

“So what are you going to do about it?” Alan challenged, folding his arms in front of his chest.

Christopher closed the book, putting it carefully on the small table to his right and stood up from the couch, finding himself face to face with his dearest friend. He looked at him nervously, sliding his tongue over his lips. His hands reached over, but stopped midway, as he realized something.

“Alan, I think you should know something first,” he muttered, his posture suddenly stiff. “I...um, I've been with other men while...”

“So have I, obviously,” stated Alan calmly, as if it was nothing to be ashamed of.

“Yes, of course,” Christopher nodded, thinking back at the article in the newspaper. “But I...what I meant was, I have never felt the same for them, as I felt for you.”

“Neither have I,” Alan nodded and lifted his hand to press with fingertips gently to Christopher's cheek. He watched his eyes widen in a memory and slid his fingers over the skin slowly in the same way as Christopher did back in Cambridge.

“I just...I can not believe...” Christopher whispered breathlessly, as Alan's fingers traveled slowly over his jaw and down his neck. “How come we have never...”

“Christopher,” Alan muttered, stepping in a little closer, his fingers grabbing the back of the other man's neck.

“Yes?” Christopher asked, his eyes snapping back up to Alan's.

“Shut up, so I can finally kiss you,” Alan commanded, pushing gently onto the nape of his neck and Christopher let himself be pulled in close and guided into a gentle kiss.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: WARNING: This chapter is NSFW, but please go easy on me, I've never written anything like this... hope you'll enjoy the following fluffy vanilla scene anyways though!
> 
> \----------

Alan let his fingers travel down the nape of Christopher's neck, pushing his lips fully to _his_. And it was just that – a gentle kiss, but Alan couldn't help himself to feel a bit overwhelmed. He took a deep breath in through his nose, trying to steady himself, but it was no help. His fingertips were still tingling, as if they wanted to grasp Christopher and pull him in even closer, but he reigned himself just in time.

Christopher pulled back a little to look at him, his eyes full of wonder and affection. They could still feel their breaths ghosting over each other's lips, as they searched in their eyes for something, that has been there this whole time, but was only now able to swim to the surface.

And then Alan closed his eyes again and put a little kiss in the corner of Christopher's mouth and then another one a bit more to the right, where the cheek met his lips. And then another one and another, pushing his lips softly to the skin across his jaw and cheek.

“We have so much to talk about,” Christopher sighed and turned his head to the left a little, to give Alan more access. He also reached out to slide his hands over the other man's waist, but it obviously wasn't enough of him, because he pulled Alan's body closer then, hugging him instead.

“So much to catch up to,” Christopher continued, his eyelids dropping for a second, when Alan pressed his lips to the pulse point on his neck.

“That is exactly, what I am attempting to do now, Christopher,” Alan murmured, his breath ghosting over the exposed skin. He let his hand slide to the side of Christopher's neck, letting it stay there.

“Ah, yes,” the doctor nodded slightly, grasping the back of Alan's shirt, jerking it upwards. He manages to pry it out of the other man's pants, sliding his fingers under it to get into contact with the warm skin on the lower back. “That's a good plan.”

At that, Alan let go of Christopher, making a little step backwards to get out of his embrace. The doctor wanted to complain, until he saw Alan reach for the buttons on his shirt and froze.

“All my plans are perfect, if you must know,” Alan mumbled, unbuttoning one button after another.

“I can only agree,” Christopher nodded, deciding to follow Alan's lead. He lifted his hands, trying to unbutton his shirt as fast as possible, but only managed to fumble desperately, which made his eyes tear themselves from his undressing partner and glance down at the problematic buttons. That manipulation with them was getting quite frustrating.

He wanted to groan in annoyance, when he once again failed. That was until Alan pushed his hands out of the way and started to undo his buttons himself without much effort. Christopher finally looked up at that, seeing Alan's bare chest and realized, he must have been fumbling for longer, than he thought, since Alan already managed to take off his undershirt too.

Christopher raised his hand and touched Alan's cheek then, caressing it gently and for a few seconds, Alan stopped with the undressing and pressed his cheek back into his palm, his eyes closing peacefully. And Christopher couldn't help himself, seeing that calm face, he had to kiss Alan again. And so he did, but this time, it was more than just a simple kiss.

His lips moved over Alan's slowly, savoring every moment of it, while he let his fingertips travel down the cheek, over the neck, letting them slide down onto the bare chest, touching whichever part of the exposed skin, he could reach. He barely noticed Alan pushing his unbuttoned shirt from his shoulders, having so many other things to concentrate on.

But unfortunately, he was forced to move away, when Alan pulled his undershirt higher. Christopher grasped the edges himself then, pulling it off fast and effectively, and then he was back in Alan's arms again, the kissing resumed.

“Alan,” Christopher whispered in between the kisses, feeling Alan's arms around him tighten by some reflex. He let his arms circle Alan's neck automatically, to get even closer and feel the warmth of Alan's chest across his own.

“Tell me,” Christopher said breathlessly, as Alan's mouth decided to travel down his neck again, licking slowly over then skin in between the soft kisses. “Tell me anyways...”

“What do you want to know?” Alan quizzed, as he pushed Christopher down onto the sofa, climbing into his lap. The other man looked up at him wordlessly, his eyes full of amazement and excitement. He was afraid to even move. What if this was all just a dream. He's had dreams like this and they always stopped, before he could make contact with any skin, his lover shattering into pieces under his hands.

“What do you want to know, Christopher,” Alan repeated patiently, grasping Christopher's forearms and pulling onto them a little, so that the doctor would put his hands on his waist. That tore Christopher out of his mind. He slid his finders down Alan's waist, following the path down over his thighs.

“Tell me...what did you do,” he murmured, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Alan's shoulder. Alan turned his head at that and pressed a kiss back onto Christopher's temple.

“All this time without me...what did you do?” Christopher murmured between the kisses he pressed onto Alan's skin. He followed the veins up Alan's neck, smiling, when Alan's breath sped up.

“I...anything in particular you would want to know right now?” Alan asked breathlessly, putting his arms around Christopher's neck to pull him closer. He could already feel a hardness press against his backside, but decided to concentrate on the answer instead. They had all the time in the world right now anyways.

“Anything,” Christopher replied, sucking onto the skin on Alan's neck.

“Everything,” he added and licked the abused skin.

“Tell me the most brilliant thing you did,” he clarified after a few more kisses and smiled, hearing Alan exhale shakily. He looked up at him then, feeling Alan's hand travel slowly down his stomach and lower and stop right at the edge of his pants, waiting.

“I did it,” Alan said, smirking under Christopher's undivided attention. “I solved the most difficult puzzle in the world.”

“Which one is that again?” the doctor wondered, having some problems to turn on his brain, because Alan's hand decided to slowly stroke over the front of his pants, fingers tracing the hardness under the cloth.

Alan leaned in closer to whisper into Christopher's ear. “The Enigma,” he explained shortly, pushing his palm slightly against the bulge in the other man's pants, the corners of his lips lifting up a little more, when a moan escaped from between Christopher's lips.

“Wait...what?” the doctor frowned suddenly, grabbing Alan's hand to stop it from moving more. “Did you say...?”

“Yes, the Enigma,” Alan nodded, as if it was nothing. “I solved it two years ago, during the war... well actually I built Christopher and _he_...”

“Let's agree to call _him_ just Chris, so there is no more confusion,” the doctor remarked, letting go of Alan's hand to wave in the direction of the adjoined room. “Speaking of which, should I be jealous of a cryptographic machine then? The way you talk about _him._..”

“No...no, he was just...” Alan shook his head, putting his both hands on Christopher's cheek to make him look at _him_ again.

“He is important...yes, but he was just a poor substitution for you,” he said sternly, touching his forehead to Christopher's.

“Don't sell yourself short,” the doctor muttered, shaking his head a little and then turned it up to kiss him again. “I have never seen anything as beautiful as Chris.”

“It's got nothing on the original,” Alan whispered truthfully, kissing him back. His lips slid slowly over Christopher's, his tongue darting out to touch the lower lip, licking along it.

Christopher lifted his hands to slide his fingers through Alan's hair and opened his mouth, the kiss becoming a grade more messy, than it was before, but none of them cared, as their tongues brushed against each other.

That was when Alan's fingers slid back to his pants. He opened the fly without any hesitations, prying his hard shaft out from underneath of all the cloth methodically. Christopher pulled away from the kiss, glancing down at Alan's fingers caressing his skin experimentally and moaned, putting his head on Alan's shoulder.

“But... ah,” he started again, only to be interrupted by the way Alan's fingers curled around his erection. “The war...you solved the code... is that why we won the war?”

“Eventually, yes,” Alan nodded, his hand traveling slowly up and down the other man's shaft, as if he was busy thinking about the right way to explain it all. “We...we had to keep it a secret of course. Christo-...Chris decoded every message, we got our hands on, which were all of them, of course, since they were right there, floating through the air like leaves...”

“I see...” Christopher took a shaky breath in, not distracted enough by the slow friction, so he caressed Alan's thigh, tracing his fingers along the seams on his pants to tease him back.

“So we...we,” Alan tried to continue, as Christopher cupped him through his pants. He recovered quickly enough, stroking the other man's erection a bit quicker in retaliation. “We developed a system of statistical analysis to help MI6 determine, how much intelligence to act on. Which...which attacks to stop, which to let through. The minimal number of actions, it would have taken for us to win the war, but the maximum number we...we could take before the Germans would get suspicious. It shortened the war by two years and...”

“Gods, Alan,” Christopher moaned suddenly, not even sure himself, if it was the building pleasure, that made him moan or the incredible achievement of his dearest.

“It was all thanks to you,” Alan whispered, speeding up his strokes, when Christopher tensed under him, his face hidden in the crook of Alan's neck. “You...you gave me that book.”

“Alan,” the doctor goaned, grasping at the other man's tights for some purchase. “You ah...you saved millions of...”

“I only wanted to save one,” Alan whispered into his ear and Christopher shuddered at that, itching closer to his release in Alan's tight grip. “..but I thought, he was gone forever by then.”

Hearing such confession, Christopher couldn't hold off his release any longer, even if he did try. So he succumbed to the pleasure, a breathless moan wrenching itself from between his lips, as he came.

He leaned even heavier onto Alan's shoulder after he was finished, the other man's fingers still wrapped around his softening shaft.

“I have always known you will accomplish something extraordinary,” he muttered into his skin after a few silent heartbeats.

“But, Alan, this is...,” he started, pulling himself away a little to look at the said man. “You should be given a medal or a knighthood, not...”

“I have never needed any of those petty things,” Alan shook his head, a little smile playing over his lips, as he assessed Christopher's sated features.

“I have you now,” he concluded with a shrug, as if it was all he'll ever need from now on. Nor water, nor food, nor air – only his love.

“I suppose I will have to be the one to award you for your achievements then,” the doctor grinned mischievously, reaching out to unbutton Alan's straining pants and push them down his thighs.

“I can't really imagine a...a more suitable candidate,” Alan answered, watching him curl his fingers around his finally freed erection. His breath hitched a little at the first gentle stroke, his eyes falling shut for a second.

But it wasn't enough to send him over the edge just yet, because Christopher only slid his hand slowly up, running his fingers around the wet glans teasingly.

And truth be told, were this anybody else, Alan would have probably gone back soft from such a fleeting touch, but this was Christopher's hand, touching him, where he'd never guessed it would. Only the thought of it made him always shiver in pleasure, but this time, it was actually happening. And not just in his head, but for real.

His fingertips were sliding agonizingly slow down the skin and Alan's hips stuttered a little, trying to find more friction, but Christopher just grabbed his waist tight with his free hand, obscuring any possible movement. He leaned over then, kissing his collar bone.

“Christopher,” Alan said, his voice a warning.

“Yes, Alan?” the doctor looked up at him, his fingers not exactly stilling, but definitely getting even slower, as if to explore Alan's erection thoroughly.

“If I remember right, I was promised some awards,” Alan complained, sliding his arms around Christopher's neck, pulling him into his embrace. “This is hardly a proper way to...”

But he was interrupted by the way the stroke of Christopher's hand gained speed in a blink of an eye. His eyelids fell down automatically, a moan filling the space between their half-naked bodies.

“It is... it is a beautiful experiment,” Alan whispered breathlessly, as Christopher leaned over and run his tongue over his nipple, his hand stroking him in a steady rhythm, building up the pleasure stroke by stroke.

“Two ah... solutions are mixed together for some very definite period of time and then...then the whole suddenly...,” but instead of finishing the sentence, he groaned, coming into Christopher's hand, which kept stroking him through it, until he was too sensitive to bear the touch any longer. He slumped against the other man then, pulling him in a tight embrace.

“All those years ago, during that experiment,” the doctor broke the silence, hugging him back protectively. “You said it on purpose, didn't you?”

“Yes,” Alan nodded, holding him closely. “I... I wanted to see if you'd...but I couldn't read you well enough, despite my best efforts. I was never...good at such things unfortunately.”

Christopher's lips twisted at that and some odd sadness washed over his body. He suddenly felt like crying, not believing, how this happy moment stumbled into his life, but instead he just buried his face deeper into the crook of Alan's neck, rushing out the answer. “Then I will just have to be straightforward with you from now on, my dearest friend...I love you...I...always have.”

“I love you... too, Christopher,” Alan answered immediately, his body relaxing into the comforting embrace.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I misjudged the possible length of this chapter, so there will be one more to wrap this all up in colorful ribbons. :)


	7. Chapter 7

Christopher put the kettle on the stove, deciding to make some tea while Alan showers. He watched the bluish flames flicker and a smile blossomed on his lips.

“...the whole suddenly becomes blue,” he muttered then, looking up at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the falling water. He still couldn't believe, he'd got lucky enough to have a second chance at confessing his feelings for his old friend. It shouldn't have been possible anymore - none of the things that happened should have been possible.

He honestly thought, his old life ended, when his family disowned him. Christopher Morcom died that evening and nothing can bring back dead people. But here he was, with the only person, that ever loved him for who he was - who apparently still loves him for who he is now. How was this a reality and not a dream, he had no idea. But there was no way, he was going to let this go of this opportunity ever again.

He looked inside the cupboard, wondering, where Alan kept the tea cups, when he suddenly heard the sound of the front door closing and footsteps heading for the living room. He frowned, the sounds of the shower upstairs not pausing.

Curiosity and caution got the better of him and he moved, creeping slowly closer to the threshold. There was a young woman glancing into the adjoined room, where Chris hummed calmly. She couldn't have been older, that he was, her hair falling down in lazy waves, her blue dress fitting perfectly.

She suddenly turned then, presumably to look for some human presence in the kitchen and Christopher realized, he made a mistake coming out and showing himself to this woman. He didn't know, who she was or why was she there in the first place. What if she was sent here by the authorities to check on Alan? What if she learned the truth about them? They would both be persecuted and send to jail. He couldn't let that happen.

The woman froze, noticing him watching her from between the door.

“Oh, hello,” she said, confused by his presence. Christopher offered her his most dazzling smile, forcing his tone to sound genuinely friendly. “Hello.”

“Who are you?” she blurted out, her eyebrows knitting together. She glanced around again, probably hoping to spot Alan somewhere, but unfortunately, he was upstairs in the shower, which she couldn't possibly hear from the living room.

“I'm mister Turing's doctor,” Christopher answered, nodding formally in her direction. Maybe he could play this out somehow.

The woman's frown deepened and suddenly she was no longer few meters away from him - suddenly she was right in front of him, her palm connecting with his cheek in a vicious slap.

“How dare you drug him?!” she spat furiously, when Christopher just stared at her in silence. “Do you know, what he's done? How much he's lost? How many lives he saved!? And this is how you...”

“Joan,” spoke up a new voice from behind Christopher. He turned around, spotting Alan with a bathrobe pulled tightly around his still wet body. “That is not a proper way to treat a guest.”

“No, Alan, this _doctor_ here,” she argued, her voice full of disgust. “He thinks, he knows everything. He thinks he is curing you, but you are not sick...you are not. He is hurting you. He deserves...”

Christopher clenched his jaw, trying to make himself stay silent. He can't start arguing with her, saying that he would never hurt Alan on purpose. He needed to stay in his role.

Alan glanced at him at that, noticing the way his lips thinned and his hands balled into fists. He walked in closer to him, ignoring the woman's outburst and reached to touch Christopher's forearm comfortingly. He could probably see, how close to panic the other man was and tried to soothe him with his touch.

“It's okay,” Alan said. “She knows everything. There is no need to...”

And with those words, the pressure was lifted from Christopher's chest and he sighed, realizing he's been holding his breath. He nodded at Alan in thanks and turned back to the woman, smiling for real this time.

“Well in that case, I think we will have to start over,” he stated, reaching his right hand to the woman, who just stared at him in confusion. “Hello, my name is Christopher...I'm Alan's dearest friend.”

He thought, the woman couldn't look any more befuddled, but after he said his name, she actually did.

“Christopher...?” she quizzed, glancing back to the adjoined room, ignoring his outstretched hand completely.

“Yes,” he nodded, even though she wasn't looking at him.

“Wait...” she muttered and looked back at him. “ _The_ Christopher?”

“Yes,” he nodded again.

“I thought you were dead,” she added immediately, stepping a little closer to him, her eyes scanning him from head to toes.

“That...is a very long story, I'm afraid,” the doctor cringed, because he wasn't really comfortable enough with explaining the story of his life to some stranger. Even if she did know Alan and seemed to be pretty close to him, which intrigued Christopher in one way or another – he still wouldn't want to reveal his deepest secrets to her.

“Well, simply put, it was all a horrible misunderstanding,” he decided to say. “I am very much alive, as you can see.”

“And you're Alan's doctor now,” she stated, seeking confirmation.

“Precisely,” he nodded, glancing at Alan, who just turned around to go back to the kitchen, probably concerned more about the boiling water, that about this woman interrogating his lover.

When he turned back to her, he realized she was watching Alan too. Those sharp eyes of her judging every movement he made. Her eyebrows shot up, when she realized the obvious thing – Alan didn't look sick anymore.

“You were able to feign the treatment,” she whispered, her mind working fast, sorting through all the facts.

“Correct,” he nodded, his lips widening in a smile at that statement. The woman kept staring at him sternly anyways, but he did notice the corners of her mouth twitching emphatically, so it might have been a small victory. Well any victory was good. She squinted her eyes at him, folded her arms over her chest, lifting her nose up indignantly.

“I have a feeling you deserved that slap anyways,” she announced to the room, obviously sure of herself. “So I am in no way inclined to apologize for it.”

Christopher just shrugged, waving his hand nonchalantly. “I am okay with that, miss...?”

“Mrs. Joan Murray,” she offered, strengthening her dress to look more presentable.

“Well Mrs. Murray,” Christopher felt a genuine smile set itself onto his face, as he stepped out of the threshold, swiping his hand to show her to the kitchen. “How would you like a cup of coffee?”

Joan peered into the kitchen, seeing Alan open the cabinet nearest the window and taking out three large cup dotted with red circular shapes.

“Oh yes, thank you,” she nodded, stepping inside the kitchen with Christopher following closely behind her.

“Maybe you can even intrust me with some gossip about our mutual friend here,” he wondered aloud, pulling a chair out for her to sit on. Joan sat down, lifting her eyebrows to look up at him, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. They both glanced over to the other side of the kitchen and watched Alan for a while, who was fussing over the cups.

“I was his fiance once, you know,” she let out under her breath, leaning into the chair, her hands folding gracefully in her lap.

“Oh, do tell,” Christopher smirked, pulling a chair out for himself too and sitting down right next to Joan.

“Yes, it was all quite... decorous,” she giggles, as if it was some inside joke, that he could in no way understand. Christopher just waited patiently, leaning over closer and arching his eyebrows to encourage her to keep talking.

“I could solve mathematical problems faster than him, so naturally, he thought I was essential to his research,” Joan explained quickly. “Except my parents did not wish me to remain in the research facility in my unmarried status, so...”

“You've got to be kidding me,” Christopher snorted. “You mean he asked you just so...”

“Yes, yes,” she gushed, waving her hand around. “He even made me a ring out of a piece of wire.”

“It was a paper clip, actually,” Alan muttered, standing in front of them with a grumpy expression. Christopher and Joan looked up at him and burst out laughing.

 

~o~

 

Two Years Later

 

Doctor Christopher Collins walked out of his small house on a warm summer morning in 1954. The sun was just climbing lazily up the horizon, evaporating the fresh dew sprinkled all around the grass. He stepped into the driveway, breathing in the crisp air and walked slowly to the mail box, which was standing at the end of the lawn.

Opening it, he realized there was an envelope inside. He took it out, scanned it's surface and frowned, seeing no return address. He didn't let that fool him though, because there were still stamps on the while envelope, by which he could judge it's origin. And this one came all the way from Great Britain apparently.

He held his breath, sliding his fingertips over the sealed paper and without further ado, ripped the edge of the envelope with his fingers only. There was a folded piece of paper inside, the letters obviously written by a typing machine. Christopher took a deep breath in, steadying himself mentally and started to read.

 

“We feel obliged to inform you, that Alan Mathison Turing was found dead in his house, lying neatly in his bed with froth round his mouth, by Mrs. C-----, when she came in at five o'clock on Tuesday 8 June.”

“The investigators found a jar of potassium cyanide and a jam-jar of a cyanide solution inside the said house. Amongst other things found was a half of an apple, out of which several bites have been taken. The following analysis properly established, that the apple had been dipped in cyanide.”

“On 10 June, the inquest established, than Alan Mathison Turing's death has been a suicide by cyanide poisoning. The pathologist, who did the post-mortem put the time of death as on the Monday night. The reasons, as if to why the said man would commit a suicide are unknown, but the coroner stated the following on this matter: “I am forced to the conclusion, that this was a deliberate act. In a man of his type, one never knows, what his mental processes are going to do next.”

“As per the new will, set on 11 February 1954, all the deceased's mathematical books and papers go to Robin Grandy. Then after £ 50 legacies to each member of his brother's family, £ 30 to his housekeeper, the remainder is to be divided between his mother, Nick Furbank, Robin Gandy, David Champernowne and Neville Johnson.”

“Our deepest condolences,”

“Signed by Steward Menzies, the head of the Military Intelligence Deputary 6.”

 

Christopher read the letter one more time, walking slowly up the driveway and back into the house. He made his way through the kitchen, moving the half-drunk cups of coffee into the sink and then slipped into a very spacious garage through the door next to the fridge.

The garage itself was the most biggest room in the whole house. It was even bigger than the living room. One half of it was currently occupied by his gray Moris Minor and the other half was stuffed full with humming devices.

He stepped over a few scattered metal parts, almost tripping over a loose wire, until he stopped right in front of a man, bowed over a heap of parts. Christopher let go of the paper then, watching it fall down next to the man and folded his arms on his chest, shaking his head.

“Did you write a script for them to follow?” he wondered aloud, his voice laced with a slight disapproval.

“What? Why?” Alan frowned and reached over to take the paper. He scanned it quickly, reading all the words in just a few seconds.

“Come on, Alan,” Christopher exclaimed, gesturing at the said letter. “Poisonous apple? Cyanide? That must have been you idea.”

“Of course it was my idea, Christopher,” the other man answered, looking very exasperated. “You think the imbeciles from MI6 would stage such an authentic suicide? They...they wanted me hanged, for peace's sake – who would believe that?”

He crumpled the paper into a ball and flung it at Christopher's head, which he missed by a few centimeters. The other man just grinned, bending down to sit down next to Alan.

“For someone so smart, you can be quite silly sometimes,” Christopher stated then, his eyes roaming over the laid out parts. “So how's Crypto-Chris doing?”

“Don't call him that,” Alan grumbled, bumping his shoulder to Christopher's, while he resumed his previous work.

“Well?” the doctor grinned, handing Alan the soldering iron. The other man took it without even looking at Christoper, putting it to the main panel to melt the wire just enough to make the connection permanent.

“Quite well actually,” Alan mumbled, watching the metal change it's state quickly. “They would like to see him at the institute.”

“Hmm,” Christopher let out, reaching over for another set of wires to hand to the other man. Alan took it automatically, rewiring the whole panel with his skillful fingers, his concentration making him forget about their conversation, as it usually did.

Christopher did not mind though. He leaned back onto the car's tire, watching his lover fuss over Chris like a worried mother might, when her child got sick. The metaphor amused him, a lazy smile spreading over his lips.

He let his thoughts wonder, while Alan worked diligently, listening to his lovers calm breathing and to the click-clacking on the metal parts. After a while, his felt eyelids slide down and he allowed himself to be claimed by sleep, dozing off calmly next to his dearest friend at last, knowing it wasn't for the last time.

THE END

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And so it ends... I hope you enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it! :)
> 
> \----------


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